


the one with the campfire

by greenapples



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, i was young ok, may god forgive me but there are dancing tongues in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapples/pseuds/greenapples
Summary: Merlin is absent and there's only Arthur and Gwen here to deal with their Feelings and Hormones.





	the one with the campfire

'What _is_ it with you and getting kidnapped?'  
  
Arthur's voice is a murmur, a vibration in the air mixing admonition and fondness with the soothing crackle of their camp fire.  
  
The night is warm enough for them to probably go without it, but there's no moon to relieve the darkness of the forest around them and he needed something to do while she tried her best to fix her damaged clothes.  
  
Last time this had happened she'd been wearing Morgana's silks, delicate material that did _not_ tear and thus did not compromise her modesty. Figures it would be her own rougher, supposedly _sturdier_ skirts that would tear in such inconvenient ways.  
  
Then again, the few strips of fabric she managed to salvage were put to good use when Arthur decided her wounds needed cleaning and _dressing_ even though they were just a collection of scratches that would scab over in a matter of days, so perhaps not all was lost.   
  
'You should rest', she says, ignoring the question. The implications.  
  
He doesn't.

'I'm sorry, Gwen', his whisper is closer by her ear, forehead pressing gently against her temple. 'I shouldn't have kissed you like that' A pause. 'I shouldn't have kissed you like that in such a _public place_ '.  
  
His face is so close, his breath hot on her cheek. All of him so close, too close. Alive and solid and _right there_. 'I shouldn't have _let_ you kiss me like that in such a public place, Sire', she teases.   
  
He sighs, puts his fingers on the bruise exposed by her wrecked skirt and prods gently. Her leg tenses.  
  
'It hurts', he says but doesn't move away and Gwen's whole world shrinks to that point of contact, four little dots of warmth on her cool skin. It feels illicit even in this darkness, in this solitude. Her heart stutters.  
  
'It does. But that's not it', her face grows hot at her admission, Gwen imagines her cheeks coloring as Arthur takes his time catching her meaning. Suddenly his breathing stops and she knows. _Knows_ this is when it all changes, wants it with every inch of her skin, every beat of her heart.  
  
Arthur slides his fingers upwards until his whole hand is pressed against her shin, almost touching her knee. The fire continues to talk to itself, crickets sing in the darkness around them and Arthur's breathing resumes, deep and controlled. Expectant. Gwen turns and finds his lips with hers.  
  
A sharp intake of breath, a blind fumble as they shift to better angle their bodies, Arthur's hands going to tangle in her curls, keeping her close to his mouth as his tongue dances with hers. Gwen's blood sings through her veins, rushing to accommodate her increased heartbeat, her sudden breathlessness.

She wants more.  
  
'Gwen', he husks, half warning, half plea when she guides his hand back to her leg, higher on her thigh this time. On the inside.  
  
By the firelight and this close, she can see how his eyes darken, the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallows. She's sure she can _see_ the moment he makes his decision.

Gently, oh so gently, Arthur hikes his fingers farther up her leg dragging her dress along. Gwen feels like dying, like freezing time right here where his eyes are locked with hers and the weight of that look feels somehow more intimate than his hand finally reaching it's destination. The heat in his eyes sears itself into her memory, leaving after-images in the backs of her eyelids when she closes her eyes.   
  
'Gwen', he whispers again, buries his face in her neck and presses against her center with his open palm, his other hand splayed over her lower back, keeping her close. And _oh_ , she can feel herself growing wet for him and the thought of _him_ feeling her as well fires her into action.  
  
'Wait...', she shifts again. 'Let me-' she's on her knees in front of him, Arthur's tongue snakes out to wet his lips and then he reaches for her, kisses her again, hungry and messy as he puts his hand back where it was. Growing bolder, his fingers push her undergarments aside to stroke her skin and make her whimper at this first, hesitant touch.   
  
Gwen breaks the kiss and nibbles her way down his throat, tasting salt and heat, breathing in leather and sweat and woodsmoke. She wants to tell him she likes that scent, that she's glad he came to get her back home again, that he's a fool for coming alone, that she loves him and thought she'd die without ever telling him.

But he speaks first.  
  
'Uh. How do you-?' he clears his throat. 'I mean, do you-? Er...'  
  
She laughs then, loud and free. He looks slightly embarrassed and she loves him so much right now she thinks she might burst.  
  
'Like this', she says, voice darker than she though it would be, and guides his hand to where she needs it, moves her hips to aid in the process and moans quietly when he slips a finger inside her without prompting.   
  
When she looks at him again, Arthur's looking right back, he's got this expression on his face, something like awe and eagerness maybe, that tugs at her, draws her in and makes her want to see what else she can make him look like. He's pumping his finger now, in and out, slowly and carefully, keeping his thumb pressing tiny, tiny circles against the little sensitive nub she taught him where to find and dear God, she shouldn't want more.

Knows she's not supposed to _have_ more, maybe not even this much. But then Arthur adds a second finger and she forgets to worry about impossibilities and shoulds and shouldn'ts.   
  
Still, her boldness has limits and so she finds she can't look him in the eye when she asks Arthur to tell her how _he_ does it.   
  
Arthur says nothing. Ever the man of action, he splays his legs a bit further apart and takes her hand to put it on his crotch.

Somehow she didn't expect him to be this hard already, the outline of him clear through the cloth of his pants, Gwen runs her fingers over that line, spying his reaction from under her eyelashes. He pulls his fingers from inside her and begins to trace her folds in the same way she does his erection, wicked little smirk on his face.   
  
And _that_ is an expression she's in no hurry to forget, but as enjoyable as this all is, she's had enough teasing already, and if the trembling of his thighs is any indication, so has he.

He's holding back, she can tell, and that won't do.

Gwen fumbles with the ties of his britches and stills Arthur's incoming protest ('Gwen, you-')when her hand wraps around him as though she's done this before and knows exactly what she's doing.   
  
Even though she doesn't.  
  
His fingers stutter and she takes the chance to grab his wrist and pull his hand away, straddle his thigh and settle her weight there, her abused knees grateful for the respite. Arthur lets her do, lets her make herself comfortable, lets her put her lips by his ear and say 'show me'.  
  
His hand feels huge and heavy as it envelopes her own over him.

'Like this', he tells her. 'With your thumb-', he's breathless now, so he demonstrates. She looks on mesmerized as he swipes his own thumb over the head of his cock where moisture is already gathering, she drinks in his closed eyes and open mouth, the flush rising over his neck, his strangled grunts and the pressure of his fingers interwoven with hers.   
  
His other hand clamps hard on her hip and it's not until she feels the rush of liquid heat surge between her legs that she realizes she's been rocking against his thigh, keeping up with her hand.  
  
Arthur picks up the pace and Gwen moans as she matches it with her hips. A shared rhythm that has them both sweaty and panting. She's close, so close now, just... Arthur swears when he see her free hand go from clutching at his shoulder to rub between her legs where she cannot quite angle herself to reach with his thigh alone.   
  
'Gwen. Gwen', his voice sounds wrecked and she wonders what he would sound like were he inside of her, what he would feel like pressed up close to her body, pushing her down into a mattress with his weight. Arthur's babbling nonsenses into her neck now, and it's with his teeth biting into her collarbone and the phantom sensation of him between her legs that she throws her head back and comes, heat expanding through her, her belly, her chest, her fingertips, overflowing all over Arthur's thigh.   
  
Arthur stills their hands and increases the pressure a bit more before grunting something into her neck and spilling over their fingers.   
  
They sag against each other and, for a while, all she can hear is their ragged breathing and the sound of his thumb drawing circles into the material of her skirt over her hip.

After they've cleaned up with yet _another_ strip of fabric from her dress, Arthur lays his sleeping roll next to the fire and pulls her down onto it next to him, his arm around her shoulders.  
  
'So, I was thinking', he begins. Gwen hums. 'Maybe you _should_ get kidnapped more often'.  
  
Gwen debates whether to slap his shoulder or the side of his head, decides on the former and somehow ends up curling up closer to him instead of exerting any violence. Oh, well.  
  
'You just want an excuse to ride around looking serious and feeling heroic', she says at last.  
  
He snorts. 'I don't need an excuse for that, Guinevere'.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like if i were in the prime of my fanperson activity for this fandom, my summaries would be about 75% less flippant. possibly.   
> And this is also a response to a prompt.


End file.
